


Baby Booties in Regulation Black

by frankie_felony (dextrosinistral)



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, author offers apologies in advance for any terrible puns within, ginger babies for everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dextrosinistral/pseuds/frankie_felony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of all of them, nobody thought that Clint would be the first to really settle down.</p><p>Even agents for super-secret organisations want to have families.</p><p> </p><p>[NOTE: I'm so sorry, guys, but my computer kicked the bucket and I haven't had time to put it back together and recover all of my files, and I've lost the notes I had for finishing this. I'm afraid we'll have to consider it abandoned until further notice.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikes_grrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/gifts), [candesgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/gifts), [tawg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/gifts).



> This happened. Spontaneously. Via twitter. (I seem to get inspired in 140 characters or less a lot.) And hey, I wrote something that vaguely resembles porn! Mikey and Candesgirl are terrible, terrible enablers, and that would have been all well and good, but then Tawg had to join them. I can't lie, I love them for it though.
> 
>    
> The timeline for this fic isn't directly in line with The Avengers itself; at the start we're closer to when Iron Man took place. I have taken some liberties with the histories of Phil and Clint.

"You want to what?"

Clint faltered. He'd never been very good at asking for something he wanted, and it was certainly no easier with Director Fury staring across the desk at him. He took a breath, hoped that the moment it took him to answer would be interpreted as something other than what it was.

"Sir, I know that you are aware of the... relationship I have with Agent Coulson." His fingers curled into a fist at his side; he forced himself to relax them, wishing he had his bow, something to hold onto.

"He has filed appropriate paperwork concerning your fraternisation." Fury spared a glance to the clock on the wall.

Clint sucked in a long breath, doing a quick count to ten, and then tried again. "I— _we_ —want a family. I need the appropriate forms that I need to fill out to adjust things. I know they exist; I remember Lancaster filling them out the last time his wife was pregnant. May we have your approval so that we can get those forms?" He glanced around the room. "I know I should have gone to someone else before you, but I want this going through as few people as possible. I hope that won't be a problem."

"Not at all, Agent, but are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't, sir."

Phil barely looked up when Clint walked into his office and dropped into one of the chairs across the desk. "Did you know that we have to do worse than be married to do this?"

"I take it you got the forms—"

"I have to sign my assets over to you so that they may be passed to our future progeny in the event of my untimely death."

"—and looked at them all."

"You're getting out of this one so fucking easy, it's just not _fair_."

He finished signing the last page in this stack and set his pen down, then looked up to meet Clint's eyes. "Consider it retribution for the number of times I have had to go behind and edit your reports, Agent."

"What; are all the times you've whipped me into submission not enough?"

Phil started on the form. "Don't think that I won't file a harassment form, Barton. Until you file all of the appropriate paperwork, we are still technically only professionally involved. I would hate to sully our courtship."

"Now you're just making fun of me." Clint leaned back in the chair for a moment. "We don't... have to tell anyone, right? I mean, not yet."

"I thought you were anxious to start shouting it from the rooftops."

Clint ran his fingers through his hair. "No, not—I mean, I _am_ , I guess. I mean about this whole family thing. It's unavoidable that people will ask questions, and I don't know how to answer them."

Phil looked up, finally smiled. "You can tell them it's classified; technically, you wouldn't be lying."

"Why is it so much more work for us to try to do this than it would be for Campbell and her boyfriend?"

"Because Campbell and her boyfriend can have their children the traditional way, and because our government still believes that 'separate but equal' works in some instances, despite all of the evidence we've seen to the contrary."

Clint made a disgusted sound and dropped the folder of paperwork on Phil's desk. "That's the stupidest bullshit I've ever heard."

Phil bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, it is. You still have to fill out the paperwork. That's actually the easy part. I have to screen and locate an acceptable surrogate, and you're completely forgetting everything that happens once we actually _have_ a family."

"I am not!" Clint knew he was starting to sound really petulant, but he just couldn't stop. "She's going to be the best addition our family could possibly have. I just know it. Sure, she won't get my good looks, but she'll have your tactical skills and charisma."

"You've already decided we're having a girl, and none of this has even happened yet."

"What, you want a boy?"

"We are not going to have this argument, Barton. Fill out your paperwork, and get it returned to the Director. Now, I do believe you were scheduled some time to test out that new bow. That appointment can't be rescheduled again."

Clint sighed and got up. "As you wish. Debriefing as usual?"

Phil didn't look up again, knowing his face would give him away. Because they had to be discreet, Clint had taken to referring to daily-life events such as dinner in terms of things they'd do on the job. Phil thought his word-association was terrible, but he hadn't come up with anything better or equally inconspicuous to say, so he let it slide. "Yes. Go. 7:30."

Their dinner was quiet. Clint ate mostly silently, too tired and annoyed from his afternoon to say much. Phil took the silence for what it was and decided to wait until they had climbed into bed for the night to ask about how the rest of his had gone. "How's the bow?"

Clint's half-disgusted sigh told him as much as he needed to know. "It's shit, Phil. The draw weight is so wrong; I'm offended that it got cleared to come to me. I couldn't get anything done for it, so I spent the afternoon doing other training exercises. I get it, most guys my size run on a different draw weight, but I've been doing this shit for _almost my entire life_ and they're not even taking into account that the arrows I use have a different weight than traditional ones."

Phil reached for Clint, curled his fingers around his arm, giving in to the temptation to just enjoy that for a moment. "They'll get it right, Clint. You go through this every time; you're so particular. It's a good thing, but it is going to continue to be frustrating... " he trailed off, tracing a vein down to his elbow.

"Are my arms distracting you again?" He could hear the smile in Clint's voice. The bed shifted as Clint turned onto his side and moved closer to Phil. "You wanna know what else I can do with them?"

_Yes_ , Phil did, but he wasn't going to give in that easily. "You're incorrigible. You know that, right?"

He thought he could almost _feel_ the smirk he knew Clint was giving him, even though their faces were still a foot apart. "I wouldn't be so bad if you hadn't been so 'incorrig'-ing."

Phil sat up, falling out of Clint's arms. "I can't believe I walked right into that pun." He got up, picked up his pillow, and kissed Clint's forehead. "I'm banishing _myself_ to the couch for that."

Clint's fingers encircled his wrist. "Can I come ruin it for you later with a surprise repentant blowjob?"

He turned; he could already feel that want bubbling up. "If that is something that you want to do later, I will look forward to it."

In a moment, Clint pulled him down by his wrist, his other hand coming to rest on Phil's hip. "What if I ruin it before you even get there?"

Phil looked down at him, shifting a little closer. "Would your ruining it later still be an available option?"

Clint let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, curled his fingers into Phil's hip. "You know that's always an option, sir."

"Can you please – _not_ – with the 'sir' when we're at home?" Phil whispered. "It makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

Clint looked up at him, kissed his neck, and replied, "I can stop, but I kind of like it... _sir_."

Phil traced the line of Clint's jaw. "If that's what you really want to do, that's fine. I just don't want you to feel pressured into doing anything you're not 100% sure you want to do."

"Jesus Christ, Phil, we've been together for _seven years_ and you still think I might do something I don't want to?"

"Clint." His voice was quiet, full of things he still wasn't always quite sure he could say. "I love you. I only want what will be the best thing for you. No matter what that means. We can have this discussion three-hundred times and I will still want to be sure you're saying and doing things you _want_ to say or do, not that you feel like you have to say or do. Please don't mistake my concerns or hesitation for anything they aren't."

Clint leaned up and kissed him, grinding his hips up against Phil's, halfway to prove a point. "I think I'd care a little more if I hadn't been gone on you since you shot me." He moved away for a moment to ditch his shirt. "That was the most awkward pick-up line ever, just so you know. You should be glad it worked on me."

"Shooting you was _not_ a pick-up line and you know it."

"Will you stop splitting hairs and fuck me already?"

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Be patient, kitten. We'll get there." He pulled the t-shirt up over Clint's head and gave him an appraising look. Sometimes it still surprised him that Clint had stayed, after the strange beginnings their relationship had had.

Clint whined at him and pulled at his clothes. "Stop reminiscing." He gave up on Phil's shirt after a moment and went for his pants instead; and very nearly upended them from the bed when Phil grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled none-too-gently to stop him.

Phil bit at Clint's neck, pushing him back and yanking down his pants. He wrapped a hand around his cock, giving a couple of short pulls, and then let go to get into the night table drawer for some lube. "Shit, Clint, we're out of rubbers."

"I don't _care_ , Phil, I haven't done anything dangerous since the last time I was tested. And we've been together. For. Seven. _Years_. And who the fuck else am I sleeping with? I think we'll be all right this time." Clint rolled his hips up against Phil's, biting back a groan, and pushed Phil's boxers past his hips. "Don't make me beg."

"Stop that. I won't." He slicked up a couple of fingers, worked Clint open, and pressed a soft kiss to his neck while he applied more lube to himself. Clint hummed in his ear, getting impatient. Phil just gave him a placating look and rearranged their legs before pushing into him.

Clint grabbed his arms, letting out an almost-half-strangled groan. "Jesus fucking Christ," he gasped, "why haven't we been doing it like this the whole time?"

"Because we still have to be careful," Phil said and curled a hand into Clint's hair, giving it another light tug. Clint ground back against him, twisting his fingers around Phil's free ones. He rocked against him, wanting more, but not daring to ask for it just yet.

Phil's fingers pressed into Clint's hip, enough to bruise but not as much as Clint wanted. There would be time for that later, when they weren't spoiling Phil's self-imposed night-long trip to the couch. _Not too much time, though_ , Phil thought. He held onto Clint for as long as he could, collapsed on the bed beside him.

"Do you really have to sleep on the couch tonight?" Clint asked. His voice was uncertain, raw, but his hand didn't miss its target, using his partner's shoulder for leverage as he turned to face Phil.

"I think I can make an exception this time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Clint are an old married couple, and they can't even get married.

"What am I supposed to put in this box for 'new surname'? I wasn't aware that we were changing them." Clint didn't look up from the form he was filling out. He just wanted to get the answer and get done.

"It's standard on the form. You don't have to change your name if you don't want to. I thought we might append them, though, for the sake of our future children." He heard the pen hit the table with a soft thump, and after a long moment of silence, Phil looked up to see Clint just staring at him. "What?"

"Children? As in, more than one?"

Phil set his work aside, chose his words carefully. "I had hoped we might elect to have a family of more than three. If that isn't the case, if you want just the one, that's also reasonable. I think two would be all right, maybe. What were your thoughts?"

There was a second where it looked like Clint was going to shake his head and dismiss the question, but then he got up and walked around the table to Phil, pushing his chair back. He leaned forward until his face was about two inches away and stared Phil down, his eyes wide. "I don't even know if I can handle just one, but I'd have a baker's dozen of your kids if I could," he said. "I'll learn. I'll retire early and stay home with them and—"

"You are _not_ going to live a fifties-housewife fantasy. Don't even try to sell me on the idea. My mother could tell you horror stories about that."

"Hey, I haven't met your mother. When is that going to happen? You'd said I could a couple of years ago but I've spent every Christmas since in some fucking freezing, snow-covered place trying to kill someone for not enough hazard pay."

"Are you about to start arguing for meeting my family or getting paid more? Because I can tell you right now, the latter isn't happening unless your annual review improves, and I'm not the judge of that anyway."

"No, I know, I've all but given up on _that_. When am I going to meet your family though? We've been together more than long enough. And I know you've told your mother about me; I accidentally eavesdropped on one of your video calls. She's probably gonna kill you whenever you finally bring me home." He grinned, dancing out of Phil's reach as he spoke.

"Clinton Fra—"

"Not with the middle name! I give!"

Phil stood up, abandoning his work. "Come here," he said, turning serious. He took a step forward and waited for Clint to come to him. Clint stopped in front of him, head inclined, eyes downcast. It bothered Phil, but he couldn't quite pinpoint why. He reached forward, lifted Clint's chin until they made eye contact. "I put in for two weeks of vacation for both of us during the holiday season, and it's been approved. I was going to make it a surprise for you, but I can come up with something else."

"Did you really?" Clint offered him a small smile.

"Yes, I did. And we are going to enjoy it, come hell or high water. You haven't taken any vacation time in five years."

"Yeah, because every time I put in for vacation you send me off to some fucking freezing, snow-covered place to kill someone for not enough hazard pay. _You_ haven't taken any vacation time since before we got together!"

"That's why we're taking two weeks. And I'll resign if anyone tries to send you anywhere while we're supposed to be gone."

"You _wouldn't_."

"Clint, I have been working for Fury for nearly twenty years. I am eligible to retire by the time we have this baby. I can resign if I damn well want to."

"Don't do that," Clint said, his voice dropping again. "Please don't do that." He looked down again, his hands curling at his side. "I can't stay if you go." It sounded as if he didn't want to say those words, that they tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Phil let go of Clint's chin. He held him by the hips instead and pulled him closer, until they were touching from waist to shoulders; he tilted his head just enough to put his mouth very close to Clint's ear. "I'm not going anywhere, kitten. I wouldn't dream of it."

Clint turned his head to answer, his breath hot on Phil's cheek. "Have you found an egg donor yet?"

"I have." He stepped back and headed for the living room, taking Clint with him. He sat on the couch and waited for Clint to join him before continuing. Once they had settled, he picked up the files. "I've narrowed it down to three; we should make the final decision together."

"So let's see them, then," Clint said, tucking his feet under his legs. "Does any one of them look especially promising over the others?" He took one of the folders out of Phil's hand and opened it, skimming the information on the page. "I don't like this one, Phil. Something about her rubs me wrong."

"Then we'll choose someone else." Phil took the file out of Clint's hand and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Here, what do you think of Number 32?" He opened the file and held it between them before he realised that Clint had half-buried his face into his shoulder. "Do you just want me to tell you about her?"

"Please." Clint sounded tired. He hadn't slept well the night before, and the concern over filling out the forms properly and whether or not Phil would actually leave SHIELD had weighed heavily on him. It probably also didn't help that they needed to buy coffee, so he had only made enough for Phil to have his daily cup.

So Phil read him the file, from start to finish, and tried to ignore it when Clint sighed softly and curled closer to him. He set the file down when he finished and picked up the last one, but Clint pushed it out of his hand before he could start reading it. "That one sounded good. What does she look like?"

"Why don't you look at this picture yourself?" Phil couldn't keep the annoyed tone from creeping into his voice.

"Noooooo, just tell me," Clint whined, trying to push his face even further into Phil's shoulder. "I'll look at her and decide she's not good enough for my baby. Even if she was you in lady form, I'm still not sure I'd be all right with it."

Phil laughed, then. "You're hopeless. And lying, but I'll let it slide this time." He picked up the picture and tried to describe this girl so Clint would get a good idea. "Number 32 is pretty, but not in a conventional way. She's got this really distinct bone structure, which _I_ like... " He started running his fingers through Clint's hair, kept describing her. "... and she's a redhead, which I think _you_ like."

"Mmmm." Clint turned his head and gave Phil a one-eyed look. "Go with her. I don't even care what the last one is like. I want this perfect, red-haired, strong-jawed lady to be the mother of our children. When do we meet her?"

"Well. You can meet her almost any time, I suspect. You may already have."

"Wait, _I_ can meet her? What do you mean, I may already have?" Clint sat up. "You already met her? When? What the hell, man?"

Phil licked his lips, a touch of guilt flaring. "She's one of ours, Clint, and she's damn good at what she does."

"Did you pick your pool of potential mothers out of our ranks? Or was that just a coincidence?"

"Believe it or not, it was actually coincidental. And no, before you ask, she doesn't go out into the field. Her name is Elise Gregory."

"I don't want to meet her until after we do... whatever we need to do to get her pregnant. What if I change my mind?"

"I suspect she may kick your ass."

"That's not fair. Okay, fine, I'll meet her sooner. And I'll try not to be a dick."

"You will not _try_ not to be a dick; you will _succeed_ at not being a dick, or you are having exactly zero of my children."

Clint sighed. "All right, I won't be a dick. Sorry."

Phil shook his head and got up, pulling the folders together to put back into his briefcase. "What's for dinner?"

"I'd think you'd know better than to ask that question, sweetcheeks." Clint rolled off of the couch to go start on dinner.

"... 'Sweetcheeks'?"

"I thought you might murder me in my sleep if I called you dollface." He ducked into the kitchen before Phil could do anything and started pulling out a couple of pots. Phil followed him and stopped in the doorway to watch him work. It was always fascinating, watching Clint craft dinner out of the remains of whatever had been in the refrigerator that they had eaten earlier in the week.

"You're right; I might do that."

Clint lifted one shoulder, chopping up the vegetables he had pillaged from the crisper drawer. "You want to open a bottle of wine? We don't have work tomorrow." He smiled when Phil disappeared and went back to his work. He knew that the closet in Phil's office was half-filled by a locked wine cabinet, and while he had thought it was weird when he moved in, he had come to realise that that was good planning on his boyfriend's part.

It kept Clint's impulses to drink after a bad op under control, since he knew he wouldn't be able to get into the cabinet for anything. Sure, he could have figured out how to break in, but that would have been a huge violation of Phil's trust, and Clint wasn't about to give him or anyone else any reason to second-guess his motives. He thought enough people already did, and he was driven to prove himself this time.

He shook his head to clear his mind and got back to work at dinner, looking at what he had and forming a plan. Pasta, maybe, and he could grill that chicken breast that he knew would go bad if they didn't eat it soon, and he would figure something out with the rest of what he'd cleared.

He had gotten so deep in thought about their dinner that he almost cut himself instead of the chicken when he heard Phil set a bottle down on the counter behind him.

"Don't hurt yourself."

"You know, I hate you sometimes."

Phil's hand was warm on the back of Clint's neck as he reached around him for the corkscrew. "You do not. Hurry up so the pasta doesn't get cold."

Clint curled up around Phil on the couch after dinner, a little tipsy after drinking more of their bottle of wine than he had meant to. He let Phil choose a movie and put it on and tried to settle down and pay attention. He knew he was getting a little handsy when Phil gently took hold of his wrists. He murmured an apology to Phil, who turned and gave him a look. "Clint, I'm not doing this if you're drunk."

"I'm not, Phil, I swear." He undid the button on Phil's trousers and slid off the couch. "I just really want you for dessert." He looked up through his eyelashes and smiled. "Is that okay?"

"As long as it's what you really want." Phil closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch, curling his fingers into Clint's hair. Clint made a soft, happy noise that Phil felt down to his toes. He pulled Clint up before he finished, pushed at his clothes, whispered, "Are you okay with this?"

"Hell yes I am." Clint didn't waste any time preparing himself and rode Phil slowly, lazy in his movements, and then curled up around him again when they finished. "I love you. Is it going to be okay if I have a hangover in the morning?"

"As long as you don't throw up on me, we're fine." Phil rearranged them so he would be more comfortable and pulled the throw off the back of the couch and down over them. Clint made an incoherent sound, and Phil realised he was already asleep. He tried not to laugh at that and laid his head on Clint's chest, letting his partner's heartbeat, slow and steady, lull him to sleep as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint meets their surrogate and experiences manpain.

Clint didn't meet Agent Gregory for quite some time, still not sure that he'd want to continue with this if he did. Instead, he threw himself into filing whatever paperwork was necessary and getting their spare bedroom ready for its future occupant. Phil thought they should paint it in yellows and greens, something soft that could be easily painted over later if they needed to; Clint agreed with him, and then later changed his mind.

He had fully intended to actually paint the room in some combination of yellow or green because he'd agreed with Phil and he actually thought it was a good idea. Then he stumbled across the perfect paint shades while he was out browsing colours and knew that they were it. It would mostly still be easy to paint over, he thought, and picked up the paint and supplies that same day. He just wouldn't let Phil in until it was too late to change his mind.

When he got home, he put the paint in the closet of its room when he got home and sat on the couch in the living room to peruse furniture for the room. They had so much planning to do; there wasn't nearly enough time to take care of all of this. He would do something about dinner when Phil got home; maybe they could just order in and argue over the prices of cots or watch a movie or something.

Phil sat back in his desk chair, frowning at the stack of paperwork that had been brought to him for review just half an hour before. He was supposed to be getting ready to leave, but this work had to be done and he wasn't about to take it home with him – not today, at least. It had been thirteen years since he'd shot Clint, and while that day didn't mean much to him, he knew Clint secretly held a special place for it in his heart as the day he'd fallen for Phil.

He sent Clint a text to apologise that he wasn't going to be home until late and set his phone down to get started on those reviews. It was nearly ten before he made it out of the office, and he realised he hadn't heard back from Clint. He wondered what had happened, frowning. He swore to himself, declaring to the emptiness of the subway station that he wouldn't accept paperwork after 4:00 ever again unless it was an absolute emergency.

When he got home, he got his answer: Clint was sitting on the couch, slumped over in a horribly uncomfortable-looking position with a furniture catalogue across his lap. Phil shook his head and tried to wake Clint up, to no avail. "You're such a pain, kitten," he muttered, leaving the room. He hung his suit back up and went to try again to get Clint up and to bed.

After two more failed attempts, he gave up and took the catalogue from Clint's lap, setting it on the table. He got his arms under Clint's legs and shoulders, and carefully lifted him from the couch. He groaned softly under his partner's weight and staggered to the bedroom. "I am getting too old for this." He unceremoniously dropped Clint onto the bed and bent down. "Clint, I know you're dead asleep, but I'm taking off your shoes and socks. When I get done with that, I'm taking off your jeans, then your shirt. Whatever undergarments you've decided to wear today will stay where they are," he said, pulling off boots and socks before moving on to get Clint into bed.

When he finished, he crawled over Clint and under the covers, turning off the lamp. "Don't get yourself into any trouble in the next few days, all right? I have plans for the weekend that involve leaving town." He kissed Clint's forehead and turned over onto his side.

Clint sensed that he was being carried somewhere, even in his sleep, but awareness would not find its way to him. He woke abruptly, found himself naked and not on the couch, and nearly panicked until he realised that he was in his bed. He tried to quiet the terror threatening to overtake him, but it wasn't until he turned and pulled Phil close that he quieted. He vaguely remembered hearing Phil's voice in his sleep, but he had not comprehended the words.

He felt the low rumble of Phil's voice before the words reached his ears. "You fell asleep on the couch." He thought he heard laughter in the words, but he wasn't sure.

"What time did you get home?" His voice was thick with sleep. He felt that part of him was still holding onto threads of dreams whose ends he wasn't quite sure he wanted to see. He sat up, shook the vestiges of sleep off, and spared a look at Phil. "What time is it now?"

"I left the office a little after ten," Phil said, casting a look to the clock on the bedside table, "got home just after eleven. It's 4:45 now."

Clint groaned. "Please tell me you slept."

"I'm not young enough to stay up all night without a damn good reason, Clint. You may be the most important person in my life, but I am not going to sit up and watch you sleep because that's _creepy_."

He got a _look_ from Clint for that. "Well, I guess I'm going to go make breakfast, since we have to get up soon anyway."

"Take a shower, too; you're meeting Agent Gregory today, and I'd like to impress her favourably, in the event that you do actually want to have a baker's dozen of my children."

"You're never letting me live that down, are you?" Clint sighed and got up. "And you're making me meet Agent Gregory today? Do I have to? I kind of had a lot of stuff on my schedule."

"Yes, you do, and 'hide out in the ceiling to spy on Director Fury to see what's under his eye-patch' is _not_ an approved task. Now your schedule is much less full than it was. We're all having lunch at noon."

Clint rolled his eyes and left. He made it through his shower and breakfast without saying anything else, but shortly after they arrived on base he turned to Phil. "I don't think I can do this. What if she's all wrong? And I chose her. What if she's better than I am?"

He couldn't say that he was worried, even after all this time, that if Ms. Gregory outshone him in some way or another that he'd lose Phil. He knew it was stupid, but he'd made a lot of mistakes, and he didn't want another one to set things to an end. He knew Phil would know what he meant, anyway, even if he would act like he didn't.

"She's not all wrong, Clint. You'll see soon enough. I have a lot of work to do, and I'm sure you do, too." Phil's tone was mild, but he wasn't going to put up with Clint's self-doubt today. He had been patient with Clint about this for so long, and it was too late to backtrack on this particular dream just because he got worried that he wouldn't measure up. Phil knew that he was going to have to sit down and seriously have this talk with Clint, and soon, but he was dreading it.

They met at the café on the corner at noon. Phil was the first to arrive; he found some seating in an area where they could keep eyes in all directions. Agent Gregory was next, and Clint came last. He didn't look exceedingly pleased to be there, but put on a good face before he sat down. Phil and the mystery Agent Gregory already had drinks; Clint was surprised, though, to see that they'd left the chair at the wall empty for him.

He slid into the seat, scanning the room again before he looked at the agent he didn't know. He smiled, offered a hand. "Agent Gregory, I presume?"

Her handshake was firmer than he'd expected, even for a presumed badass SHIELD agent. "You can just call me Elise. Would you prefer I call you Agent, or would Clint be acceptable?" she said, smiling.

She was polite and unassuming and disarming, and Clint wanted to punch her for it. Why couldn't she have been awful? He bit his tongue, embarrassment flaring. "Clint is fine." He knew he needed to stop being so insecure about his relationship with Phil; Phil had seen him at his worst for five solid years before they'd gotten together, and that hadn't deterred him.

He was jarred out of his thoughts by a foot tapping on his leg. He looked up, realising he'd mentally wandered away, and tried to get back into the conversation. Phil's foot kept tapping his leg for a few minutes longer, until Clint actually started attending to the discussion at hand. They managed to make it through lunch without any disasters, and Clint decided that he maybe actually liked Agent Gregory—wait, no, _Elise_. He'd made plans to have coffee with her in a few days, so they'd have a chance to get to know each other a little, or something, without Clint getting nervous over Phil.

For the rest of the day, he thought about what information he'd gathered about Elise at lunch, and whether or not he thought it would complement their family. She was smart, he knew that; he'd read the first page of her file before going to the café, just so he'd have an idea of who he was talking to. He'd been a bit stunned to learn that she'd achieved rank close to Phil's in half as long – then again, he really wasn't sure how long it took Phil to get there. He wondered if her education had had anything to do with that; he guessed she'd come straight into SHIELD from university, going by her age.

He ran into Natasha on the range when he went down for target practise. He waited for her to finish firing her rounds before saying anything. "I thought you were in Budapest."

She shook her head and smiled. "I got back three hours ago. Just got out of debriefing. It's a shame you were pulled; you would have liked working with Singer."

"They pulled Singer in to replace me; I wouldn't have worked with her if I _had_ been there." He secured his ear defenders and let Nat get back to her own work while he did his. He hated his firearms drills, no matter how useful he knew they were. He'd still rather his bow over a rifle any day, but he ran through the drills anyway, just so he could tick them off of his to-do list.

He sat down with Nat after they finished, switching his boots out in favour of lighter shoes so he could go work out. "So Agent Singer is pretty awesome, huh? You gonna start requesting to do assignments with her, have some girl time?"

"She's professional, efficient, and very good at the job, and I look forward to working with her in the future. But she isn't you, Clint, and I can't compare the experience because even though you do similar jobs, you have very different skill-sets. It would be like comparing Coulson and Hill. They're both exceptional, highly talented agents, but they don't share all of their skills or do the same job. It makes for an unfair comparison." She watched him for a moment. "How is your baby search going?"

He stood and picked up his bag. They left the range, heading for the gym. "Good, I think. We found our surrogate. I met her this morning."

"Who is she?"

"Agent Elise Gregory."

"Our tactician? The one who blew Fury away with her initial interview?"

"I don't know, I only read the first page of her file before I met her. I guess so. Is that how she managed to scale the ranks so fast?"

"If you'd read her file, you'd know that her family history lent her experience she shouldn't have had in her field for as young as she is. She's done a lot for SHIELD. I wouldn't cross her."

" _You_ wouldn't? That's... something." He dropped his bag when they got to the mats, stretching out as he headed towards the middle of their practise area. They continued talking as they took up stances and began fighting. Clint told Nat about how the lunch meeting had gone, dodging blows and trying to land his own. He left out the parts about his insecurities and not paying attention to half the conversation while he was lost in his own thoughts.

Eventually, Natasha had him pinned on his stomach, his arms twisted up behind his back. "You have to get over your intimacy issues," Natasha said, bent close so no one else would head. "You think Coulson's going to leave you because someone is better, and that's not true. You're going to drive him away because you still haven't fully given yourself to him. He's a patient man, more so than most, but I'm sure that there comes a point where you're going to reach his limits."

Clint turned his head, tried to see if he could wiggle out of Natasha's iron grip. "What do you mean, 'I haven't fully given myself to him'? We've been together for seven years. How have I not done that by now? What the hell am I still holding back?"

"When's the last time you cried in front of him?"

Clint blinked, startled by her question, and floundered for an answer. "I don't know, there was that one movie... "

Natasha pressed her weight down into him, frowning, and then let up and sat back. "I don't mean your 'I'm a grown-ass adult' man-pain, and you know it. The last time you cried in front of him that wasn't a movie. Any time you cried in front of him that wasn't a movie."

"I don't know; when I took that bullet to the shoulder and the doctor wasn't sure I was going to regain my full range of motion?"

"You cried to _me_ about that and put your game face on the second Coulson walked in the building, like you'd figure out how to succeed in the field even if you were left with bullets for taking out targets."

He sighed and sat up, looking at her. "Dammit. You're right. I guess when we had to put Verðandi down. I think I took it worse than he did."

"Clint, that was seven years ago. The last time you cried in front of him was seven years ago over his ex's cat. Are you serious?"

Clint winced, frowning. "It sounds awful when you put it that way."

"Your intimacy issues are awful." Natasha stood and offered him a hand. He took it and pulled himself up from the floor.

"I know. And I know I need to just talk to him about it, but I can't convince myself that we'll survive if I do."

"You cried over a cat with him before you ever got together, most of your life history is in a file he's seen hundreds of times, and he knows you well enough to keep the liquor locked up somewhere that's enough out of the way that you won't be tempted to get into it. You're an idiot."

"The biggest ever, I get it." He rolled his shoulders out and picked up his bag. "I'm out. I'm supposed to make dinner tonight."

"You enjoy that."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint hates flying but likes Phil's parents, and the whole trip is like a fake-married op gone terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, it's been a while since the last update. I've been dealing with work and family stuff, everything's been kind of crazy busy. Updates on this are going to be kind of slow for a while, but they'll still be coming.

"Talk to me, Clint."

Clint shook his head. "I hate flying." He laughed. "It's stupid, I know. I fly all the time; I've flown in helicopters, jets, Iron Man's arms, alien spacecraft, on Thor's cape-tails and nothing at all. But I can't stand flying as a civilian."

Phil smiled and squeezed Clint's hand gently. "No, it makes sense. Flying as a civilian is incredibly unlike flying as part of the job."

"We could have driven," Clint grumbled. He really didn't mind getting to spend time with Phil doing nothing, though. It was rare for them to be in the same place at the same time without at least one of them doing something work-related, and now they were starting on two full weeks of it. They'd packed equipment, just to be sure, but were hoping that it wouldn't be necessary.

"If we did that we would lose a week instead of just two days because you would insist that we stop at every historical landmark or breath-taking view we passed."

Clint sighed. "You're never going to let me live down the detour through west Texas, are you?"

"The canyon was beautiful, I'll give you that, but no. They took the extra two days it took for us to get back to headquarters out of your holiday time."

"Fury was just upset we didn't bring him back a tumbleweed," Clint advised him. "We would have gotten off the hook if we'd picked one up like I suggested."

"No, we would not have. You could have taken a few days off on your own for that trip."

Clint sighed softly. "You're probably right." He shifted a little in his seat, pushed the arm rest up so he would have more contact with Phil.  "I'm glad you got us roomy seats."

Phil spared him a glance. "It was the least I could do, after so many years of sending you off every holiday to a 'freezing, snow-covered place to kill someone for not enough hazard pay'. That _is_ how you put it, isn't it?" He dropped his voice so they wouldn't be overheard; dealing with an air marshal or any other law enforcement was not on his list for this vacation. "Try to take a nap or something."

"Sure thing, lady-killer," Clint murmured, already starting to doze. Phil quietly congratulated himself for thinking far enough ahead to talk Clint into taking a mild sedative before they boarded so he would sleep through most of the flight.

"I'm going to blame that one on the sedative," he said.

"I love you," Clint said dreamily, just before he fell asleep.

 

Phil gently shook Clint to wake him as they pulled up to the gate. "We're here, kitten. Get up."

Clint rolled his shoulders and stifled a yawn. "And then I get one of your backrubs that tend to lead to sex, right? For good behaviour?"

"No, then we get our suitcase, and you meet my parents. I imagine we'll probably have dinner after that, and then, maybe, if you continue being well-behaved, you'll get one."

"You say that like you doubt my ability to behave, sir."

Phil pulled him close and kissed the side of his head. "Only because you constantly give me reasons to do so."

Clint slipped his hand into Phil's as they walked up the ramp and into the airport. Clint felt oddly relaxed. He'd thought he'd be more worried about meeting Phil's parents than he was about meeting Agent Gregory, but apparently his brain had decided otherwise. They didn't have to look long for Mr and Mrs Coulson once they got to baggage claim. Clint figured he would have been able to pick them out of the crowd anyway: Phil looked remarkably like his father.

Phil hugged both his parents at once, then stepped back to make introductions. He didn't get a chance to before his mother cut in. "You must be Clint. Phil's told us so much about you. I'm Julie; it's nice to finally have a face to put to a name!" She smiled and threw her arms around him before he had a chance to react.

Clint hugged her back awkwardly. "It's nice to finally meet you, too," he finally said. How could he tell his practically-mother-in-law that he'd barely heard about her or her husband in the twelve years he'd known their son? He didn't blame Phil for it, though; he'd been peevish about it the one time his own family came up, and they'd never mentioned anyone's parents again. He then stuck his hand out to Phil's father. "Clint Ba—" he cut himself off when Phil subtly kicked his shin.

"I'm Robert. Good to finally meet my son-in-law." Phil's dad shook his hand and then took the suitcase despite Phil's protests. "I imagine you're both probably going to want to eat something pretty soon, if they're still only giving you peanuts on flights. You could've taken the train, you know."

Phil smiled and took Clint's hand again. "Maybe next time we will. I just wanted to get the most out of our visit this time."

Clint just watched the exchange. He was a little jealous that Phil had this kind of relationship with his family, if he was totally honest with himself. He hadn't seen his brother in years, but it wouldn't have really mattered even if he had. More than that, though, it was still weird to see Phil in something other than a suit – or, occasionally, the SHIELD jumpsuit uniform. It was really difficult to not be totally inappropriate around Phil in his well-worn, well-fitting jeans.

He was pulled out of his thoughts with a sharp pain in his wrist. He spared a glance and saw Phil's thumb pressed against his arm. He followed after Phil and his parents out to their car, still wondering about the 'son-in-law' comment. What had Phil told his parents? He decided to ask about that as soon as he could, but it was going to have to wait until after dinner.

 

Clint had to admit he liked Phil's parents. He wasn't quite so happy about having to awkwardly wait and let Phil answer questions like when they'd gotten married. He was just glad that nobody had mentioned their upcoming family change yet. He didn't think they were quite prepared to answer whatever questions they were sure to be asked about it.

He stared Phil down once they were in the spare bedroom, frustrated and exhausted. He had really hoped to start their holiday off better than they had. He took pride in managing to not break his stare even through brushing his teeth. (It was a personal first.)

Phil finally turned to face him, to find out why he was having a one-sided stare-down. "What is it, Clint?" he asked.

"Since when are we married?" Clint hissed, trying to keep his voice quiet enough that they wouldn't be overheard. "I mean, I know apparently something like two and a half years ago, since that's what you said at dinner, but seriously?! You couldn't have told me before we got off the plane? How are we going to explain the lack of rings?"

"I'm sorry. With the prospect of getting to see Mom and Dad again, it slipped my mind. I haven't seen them in ten years." Phil scrubbed his face with one hand. "The whole thing started out as a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?! Then why the hell didn't you clear it up?"

"I couldn't." Phil took Clint's hands and pulled him close. "They're a little old-fashioned. When I mentioned that you were moving in, Mom thought that I meant we were engaged and getting ready to get married. She was really excited about it, and I didn't have the heart to correct her."

Clint opened his mouth and then closed it again. "So it's okay that you're gay. But it's not okay if we live together without being married? Never mind that we _can't_ get married. What are they going to say about the... you know, the package?"

"I don't know, and I'm not even sure how to tell them." Phil kissed Clint's forehead. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I do think that they may consider a non-legally-binding wedding in the same regards as a legally-binding one, in which case, it's close enough."

"That's all well and fine, but what about the rings?"

"I've taken care of it."

"How? We haven't done any fake-married ops in, I don't know, five years, and those rings are in the custody of SHIELD anyway."

"You know I can't tell you all of my surprises."

Clint rolled his eyes and finally actually looked at what was on the walls of the room. "Wait; was this your room when you were a kid?"

"What could _possibly_ have given that away?"

"Oh, you mean besides the shield painted on the wall?"

Phil smiled. "I still wonder why they've never painted over that."

"Apropos of nothing, have I been well-enough-behaved today?"

"You have been remarkably well-behaved, but you should be behaving because it's the polite thing to do, not because you're expecting a reward of some kind."

"I know. You're taking the fun out of this."

"I only take the fun out of things so I can use it for other things later."

Clint leaned back and gave Phil an appraising look. He had a few ideas of where that might go, but he wanted to know where Phil was taking that. It was the least he could do, to once in a while take initiative to cater specifically to his boyfriend's wants and needs without getting to his own yet. He knew that he tended to be a bit needy, and he hated it sometimes. "Any use in particular I can assist you with?"

Phil kissed him gently. "There are many, Clint, but right now all I want to do is sleep. We will have enough time to consider other things later." He let go of Clint's hands and got into bed, settling in the sheets. Clint switched off the light and crawled under the covers beside him.

 

Clint woke up to the smell of coffee and an empty spot in the bed beside him. He frowned and looked over at the clock. It was barely after four, so why could he smell coffee? He didn't think that most civilians woke up before five a.m. unless they had to do so for work, and Phil's parents were retired now.

He was about to get out of bed when Phil appeared in the doorway with two steaming mugs. He set them down on the table by the bed and crawled over Clint, kissing his forehead and lips. Clint grinned and rolled them so Phil was on his back. He trailed kisses down Phil's neck and tucked his fingers into the waistband of his pyjama pants, pulling them down just enough to get a grip on both their cocks, and jacked them off lazily, stealing a few kisses.

After they'd cleaned up, Clint grabbed the coffee, sitting down beside Phil to drink his. "So what's on the agenda today?"

Phil looked at him over the rim of his cup and refused to answer for a moment. "What makes you think I have an _agenda_ today?"

"You have an agenda for everything! Why would you _not_ have one for today?"

"I think 'paid time off' is the answer you're looking for."

"But you could... you know what, I'm not even going to make this argument. It's going to be stupid if I do. So there's no agenda for the next two weeks. That's great. When are you going to tell me what you've done about the rings?"

"Just have patience."

"I'll try," Clint finally promised.

 

And he did try. It was nearly impossible to not bring it up in front of everyone, but he managed. He was admittedly a bit grumpy about it, though. He felt terrible that he hadn't thought far enough ahead to do any gift-shopping for Phil's parents, but he _had_ spent the two weeks prior to this trip taking out targets in yet another freezing, snowy somewhere. He hadn't really had time to go gift-shopping, and he was pretty sure Fury was handing down these assignments for him just to annoy him.

Their gift exchange was, in the end, rather generic, but Clint didn't mind that so much. He'd never been great at gifting; he always got too concerned that whatever he was thinking about getting someone wouldn't be good enough, and then he inevitably missed his chance to give something truly amazing. Nat had gotten tired of getting socks every year for her birthday, so she'd told him to just stop giving her anything at all, and he'd guiltily accepted that offer. It was more difficult with Phil; he usually started planning his gifts as soon as he'd given the last one, but he really didn't think that his boyfriend – or was it husband, now? – needed any more fabulous ties or cufflinks.

If he was totally honest, he was a little bored. He'd gotten up early every morning and gone for a run like he always did, but he was stretching them out a bit longer than necessary. He'd read everything he brought with him for the flights and played about one hundred games of dominoes with everyone; and as well as he got on with Phil's parents, he found himself missing the job. He didn't want to miss the job; he had enough days where he dreamed of doing anything else.

Halfway through their trip, they gathered in the living room to watch 'It's A Wonderful Life' – a Coulson holiday tradition, Phil had informed Clint – and despite himself, Clint was nodding off. He didn't often have the patience to sit quietly and watch a film, and it was incredibly difficult to not make commentary, even if it would be totally inappropriate.

Phil woke Clint up when the film ended. He'd already said good-night to his parents, and the television had been shut off, so they were in the relative darkness of the living room alone. Clint stifled a yawn. "Did I really fall asleep?"

"Yes. Come on, let's go to bed." Phil practically herded Clint to the bedroom.

"What's the rush, ace?" Clint yawned as he went with. "I'm not complaining, but... is this really necessary?"

"Shut up, Clint," Phil growled, nearly throwing Clint onto the bed. Clint blinked up at him, surprised and mildly confused and more than just a little turned on. "You don't _fall asleep_ during 'It's A Wonderful Life'. The _only_ person who can do that was my grandfather, and that's only because he did it every year for as long as I can remember."

"I'm sorry, all right? I don't think it's a boring—"

"I don't recall asking for an excuse." Phil kissed him, all teeth and tongue and fingers just this side of painful pressed into neck and hip. He bit Clint's neck and smirked at the groan he elicited. Clint didn't just lie back and take it, though. They struggled back and forth for a while, leaving bruises and tossing clothes almost carelessly.

Eventually, Clint gave up, too wound up to continue this play. "I'm sorry, no excuses, I'm done. Now please, sir, will you fuck me already?"

Phil smiled gently and placed a soft kiss on the bruise on Clint's neck, curling one hand behind his head. "Of course, kitten." He was as gentle as he had been forceful only moments before, and he was rewarded for it. They settled down for the night after, Clint almost asleep again. He curled up around Phil, and Phil kissed the top of his head.

 

Clint didn't sleep for long; he woke up sometime around three o'clock, unbearably warm. He pushed away from Phil and threw the covers off of himself, pulling on the first pair of pyjama pants he reached, and wandered to the bathroom. He didn't notice anything amiss until he'd washed his hands and set them on the counter, when he heard a soft sort of 'clink'. He looked down, frowning, and then almost ran back to the bedroom.

"Phil!" He shook the bed, staying just out of punching reach. "Phil! Wake up!"

Phil rolled over and grabbed his wrists. "It's the middle of the night, Clint. What is it?"

"What the hell is this?" Clint asked and thrust his hand towards Phil's face.

To his surprise, Phil just took his hand and kissed his palm. "I think you can tell that that's a ring, kitten." He sat up and pulled Clint down onto the bed, and Clint then noticed that he was wearing one, too.

"Are you trying to be sneaky or something?"

"I'm only testing your observational skills. Do you want it?"

Clint opened his mouth to make a crack – 'Do I want it? Do you even have to ask?!' – but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he just looked at Phil for a long moment, took several deep breaths and tried not to cry. He was about to answer when Phil gently pulled the ring from his finger. The words tumbled from his mouth before he even realised he was talking. "No, what are you doing?"

Phil looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm doing this right." He didn't let go of Clint's hand, squeezing his fingers gently. "Do you want this ring? I can't promise a lifetime of bliss, but I will continue to do the same things I have done for the past eight years that have been for the best of both of us."

"I would be an idiot to say no," Clint whispered. Then he laughed, the absurdity of the moment hitting him. "Your parents already think we're married, and we practically are anyway, and I don't plan on letting anyone else have you because I'm selfish. So put that ring back on me; I don't have any plans on taking it off." As soon as he was wearing the ring again, he kissed Phil, still smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like any first-time father, Clint has some insecurities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, [wellworld](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wellworld).

"She's so _tiny_." Clint's breath fogged up the nursery window as he whispered, nose pressed to the glass, looking down at their baby girl.

"Babies usually are, Barton." Phil didn't move from where he stood, about five feet behind his archer. They were 'officially' together now, since they'd signed all of the paperwork – and, Phil supposed, since he'd given Clint the ring – but almost no one outside the Avengers, Director Fury and Agent Hill was aware yet. He wasn't quite sure how to break the news to anyone, but he didn't want it getting out on the rumour mill because _that_ never ended well.

"What's her name, oh proud father?"

Clint was mocking him. Phil knew Clint was annoyed that he'd had to fill out extra paperwork because he wasn't actually related to their daughter and Phil was. There wasn't much to do about that, though, but try to appease him. He smiled and decided to not bring up the pouting. "I thought I'd let you decide."

Clint turned and looked at him. "Really?" Phil nodded once. "Natasha," he answered without a moment of hesitation.

"That fast?"

He shrugged. "I was ready to argue for it. And if Nat's going to be her godmother—" he trailed off, looking less certain than he had when he'd started. Phil tilted his head and waited to see if Clint's insecurity would settle itself this time.

"Then it's completely within reason."

Clint smiled then, and Phil marvelled at how much younger he looked. It wasn't often that he saw the cracks in the stresses they both carried, and he treasured every one of them. "You have to go back to work?"

Phil decided that, standing in the corridor, he could stop being Agent Coulson for a few minutes. He wrapped one of Clint's hands in both of his and ran his thumbs along his knuckles. "One of us has to, Clint. Today should be an early day, though. Please sign the last of the paperwork that you need to sign so we can bring her home."

Clint sighed, bent his arm and kissed Phil's fingers. In that moment, they were just Phil and Clint, the same as any other happy couple waiting to take their daughter home. "Be careful." _I love you._

"I'll be home by 7." _I love you, too._ The moment ended, and they once again became Agents Coulson and Barton, and even though Barton didn't have to go back to work, he still had a lot of work to do.

 

Phil was _not_ home by 7, and Clint was too impatient to sit and wait, so he went back to the hospital and snuck up the few floors to see the wee baby Natasha again. She was sleeping so peacefully. He wondered how much of Phil she'd gotten – obviously not his hair, she was a beautiful little ginger like her mother – and hoped for his eyes. He still wished she could have been a pretty combination of both his _and_ Phil's best features, but that wasn't possible, so he guessed he had to settle for her having just the right amount of her father. If he gave her some of his mannerisms, it would exasperate Phil to no end, and that would make up for it.

He tucked himself away just before a nurse rounded the corner and relaxed once she had passed, satisfied that he hadn't been seen. His phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him. He answered it without looking to see who was calling. "Barton," he murmured. His answer was a soft sigh on the other end of the line, and he didn't wait to hear the disappointed tone in Phil's question, why wasn't he home already. "I'm on my way home. I'm sorry." He hung up and snuck back out of the neonatal wing.

Phil was setting down plates when Clint walked in the door. "You're late."

" _You're_ late. How am I late?"

Phil ignored the question and took his seat. "I made pasta. It won't be good once it gets cold." He was already serving it onto the plates by the time Clint joined him at the table. The next several minutes were comfortably quiet; the silence only interrupted when Clint had mostly finished eating.

"When do we get to bring her home?"

"Have you finished her room?"

"That's been done." Clint took their plates to the kitchen and cleaned up the dishes. "I put the finishing touches in today."

"You painted the room purple, didn't you, even though we _agreed_ on yellow? I haven't looked; I just know you well enough to know that that's what you would do." Phil picked up his suit jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the bathroom.

"You'll understand when you see it," Clint said, following him into the bedroom once they were both done. "Do you... want to see it?" He sounded uncertain, but once Phil nodded, he smiled. Clint waited until Phil had finished folding his suit into the dry-cleaning pile, and reached for his hand. "I'm glad you already lived in a house, so we didn't have to move to make this happen."

Phil took his hand, and they walked the short distance down the hall to Natasha's room. "I'll consider it a decade-old accidental forethought."

"You must've really wanted a family, didn't you?" Clint cocked his head and looked at Phil. "Were you married or something?"

"I've never been married, Clint."

"Except when you have been. But I'm guessing that doesn't count since you were undercover." Clint smirked and opened the door.

Phil waited a step behind, resting one hand on Clint's waist. He waited until Clint turned on the light to look inside, and was pleasantly surprised. Phil had known, somehow, that Clint had picked purple, but he wasn't expecting it to be such a light shade, almost white, with much brighter trim. It made a nice contrast with the rest of the room. Privately, Phil thought it would suit Natasha well, but he'd never admit it.

Clint leaned against Phil, quiet for a moment. "I hope she likes it."

"I'm sure she won't notice for a good while yet," Phil said. "But we don't have to worry about that right now." He turned and headed back towards their room, leaving Clint to take a couple of sprinting steps to catch up to him. Clint twisted his fingers into Phil's and stayed close, and they made the rest of the walk in comfortable silence.

Clint looked up at him once they were safely in bed. Phil could see some sort of realisation dawning on his face in the shadows cast by the bedside lamp. "When did you buy this house, exactly?"

"I don't know, mid-year '95, or something like that. Why?" Phil was lying. He'd signed the paperwork and started moving in shortly after he'd shot Clint, but he wasn't about to reveal _that_.

"Isn't that around when we started working together?"

"Yes." Phil smiled blandly, not looking back up from his book.

"You... knew? Even then? And it still took four years for you to make a move?"

"It was a coincidental occurrence." That was also a lie, sort of. Phil hadn't made any connections at the time, but something about Clint had made him want to settle down, had made him start thinking about what it might be like to have something resembling a normal life. He either hadn't realised or had refused to acknowledge what that had meant. "I had to relocate during your negotiations and shoot you before you finally agreed and signed your paperwork. You're _still_ my worst-case recruiting scenario."

Clint grinned then. "You wrote up a plan, didn't you? You'd get the house, get that all settled. Then you'd get the boyfriend – or were you planning on doing the hetero-normative thing and marrying a nice lady? And then, I guess, after you had me trained, the kids?" He hoped that somewhere in the plan he imagined Phil had, there was a wedding, but he wouldn't bring it up. Even though Phil had given him the ring, Clint still wasn't sure that his partner—fiancé, maybe?—actually _wanted_ to get married.

"Did you finish signing your paperwork and get it submitted?" Phil knew Clint wanted a wedding, but they still couldn't. He had decided to not bring it up until they could do everything legally, and so far, they still had to wait on that to happen.

"Yes, _mother_." Clint turned mostly onto his stomach and threw one leg across Phil's lap.

"Go to sleep, Clint." Phil tried to sound stern, but he only succeeded in sounding more amused than anything else. It was hard to stay annoyed at Clint when he was sprawled across the bed, looking up at Phil like nothing else in the world mattered. Phil leaned back and watched as Clint buried his face in the pillow to avoid the light.

"Yeah, whatever," Clint mumbled. "I love you, too."

Phil smiled and set down his book. He shut off the light and stretched out, pulling Clint close. They shifted around for a moment until they got comfortable, Clint lying half on Phil and their legs tangled. Phil had almost drifted off to sleep when he thought he heard Clint murmur something.

"What?"

Clint turned and looked at him, smiling tiredly. "I said, can we wake up early enough for last-chance-at-a-normal-sex-life sex in the morning?"

Phil tipped his head until his forehead bumped Clint's. "And maybe you could stop by my office on your lunch break?"

Clint feigned shock but snuggled closer to Phil. "I can't believe _you're_ suggesting office shenanigans, Agent Coulson. Mister 'Champion of Following the Rules', and wasn't one of those rules supposed to be no office sex?"

"Don't make me question my offer, kitten, or I might take it back," Phil said. He twisted his fingers into Clint's hair and kissed him softly. "I hope being at home for six weeks doesn't make you too crazy."

"Why do _I_ have to take the paternity leave?" Clint grumbled good-naturedly. "You're her real father."

A few minutes ticked by in silence. Phil tried to not give Clint a long, hard look, but it was more difficult than he'd thought it would be. "You have to take it so you'll stop saying things like that."

"Fine, I'll never say it again. Why shouldn't we split the time?"

"You'll figure that out, in time," Phil said. "Now, please, go to sleep, or I'm not going to be able to get up early."

Clint hummed softly in agreement, settling down more. He was asleep soon, and Phil tried to follow suit. Sleep didn't come easily; Phil wondered if it was because of what Clint had said. He combed his fingers through Clint's hair distractedly while he thought. The non-answer 'I'll never say it again' still carried a clear message, and it wasn't the one Phil had hoped for.

In the past almost-year, Clint had still not gotten quite used to the idea of being a father. Phil could guess where his archer's family insecurity came from, but that didn't help him figure out how he could help. He pulled Clint closer and kissed his forehead. "I wish I could make you see your perfection," he murmured. "She may not, most technically, be yours, but I have no doubt that she is _all yours_. I only hope that these six weeks will help you learn that."

Clint tucked his head more into Phil's neck and sighed serenely. He mumbled what sounded like, "Go to sleep already."

 

Phil woke up to Clint kissing his neck, patient as always. Clint sat up, kissed his cheek, and said, "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Phil answered. "No. Today's an important day."

Clint kissed him, slow and soft. "You can always go back to sleep for a couple of hours, and we can quietly surrender anything resembling our relationship up to now." He made as if to lie back down, but Phil stopped him.

"I don't think I'm ready to give it up without a fight," Phil said, smirking. He twisted his legs around Clint's to keep him close and kissed him again. Clint 'hmm'ed into Phil's mouth and curled his fingers under the old t-shirt Phil had slept in.

"I like waking up like this," Clint said. "We should do this all the time."

"And ruin your dream of corrupting our daughter? That's a tough decision."

Clint turned onto his side, a thoughtful look on his face.  "Who says I can't have it all? I'm a brilliant marksman and a thorn in Fury's side. I came from shit and look at me now! I grew up and turned into a... well, an adjusted adult. I don't have to worry about if I'll get my next meal, and I'm steadily employed." He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And I managed to land an intelligent, patient, competent, and fucking smoking hot boyfr—fia—partner who's willing to put up with me constantly being an insecure pain in the ass." He took a breath and continued. "I'm living the dream. I can wake you up for sex every morning and be a fucking _amazing_ parent. Try and stop me."

Phil smiled. "Oh, I know better than to do that."


End file.
